


Tranquility (Eren X Levi) War AU

by HumanitysBiggestBrat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: I can't think of any other tag, M/M, WW1, War AU, ereri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:51:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanitysBiggestBrat/pseuds/HumanitysBiggestBrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm feeling like angst is the way to go for this one. The is the English version of a french AU I'm doing for a french assignment......This is set in a World War One AU</p><p>Note: The one I'm passing in for my french assignment, the names will be changed, but the french one I'm posting will be with Levi and Eren.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Tranquility (Eren X Levi) War AU

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feeling like angst is the way to go for this one. The is the English version of a french AU I'm doing for a french assignment......This is set in a World War One AU
> 
> Note: The one I'm passing in for my french assignment, the names will be changed, but the french one I'm posting will be with Levi and Eren.

_Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori._  
It is beautiful to die for one’s country.  
And yet, I feel nothing for this strip of land I call my home, nor do I feel for this absurd notion called beauty.  
Some would question what beauty truly means.  
A newborn child’s first breath.  
A single dew drop on a petal under the unrelenting morning gaze.  
Or perhaps even a pair of lovers, hopelessly wrapped in one another.  
There was a time where I would appreciate such a simple yet pivotal concept; back before my pride had taking the reins of my conscious thinking; back before I entered this wretched Hell and even before such a thought came to be.  
Back when I had that simple concept in my life.  
At first, I hardly noticed. People went about their days in empty, but content silence. Daily trips to the market and stealing glances at the older folks as they subjected themselves to idle chit chat with the stall owners. Children running amongst the crowd of adults, shrill laughter bouncing off the stones walls and they ran from that one chosen child, made to chase the others in such childish freedom. Such insignificant things that one could hardly consider beautiful, made up what I once thought a fulfilling life. A mirage that hid what the world so desperately wanted to conceal; as for I, that was all I needed.  
Then very slowly, I began to wonder what it was that made what I considered beauty so. What it was that separated what my life was and what other people strived so hard to achieve.  
It wasn’t until I got my real first taste of this diseased world that I got my answer; and he stood about 5’5” and had the most captivating pair of eyes I have ever seen. The colour of the River Cohn that ran through my small village, Bibury; the same river I found myself swimming in during the summer time; a deep, rich hue; one part blue, the other part green.  
At first, this simple boy of a tender age of 18 years; three years my junior, was nothing more than a wisp of a child. One foot planted in adulthood and other still firmly resting in his unseasonal youth. A child I was ordered to look after.  
From the very first day, it still struck me odd that a mere kid would give up what some would consider a very privileged life for one filled with nothing more than empty promises and unfortunate misgivings. It wasn’t until I saw him in action that it no longer struck my confusion.  
This kid was a dead shot.  
The best in our division and nobody challenged that remark. Any who did challenged were only regarded in what I can only assume a piteous look before they were ordered to check stock. It didn’t take long for my awe in the 18 year-old boy to shift to outright admiration. It seems almost questionable. Never had I exhibited such a revealing emotion and yet, I didn’t hesitate to show it then.  
It wasn’t until his second week in this hellish trough that he finally decided to speak to me.  
“Eren Jaeger, by the way,” he had said to me, his unusually tanned hand outstretched, waiting for my pale one; a cigarette dangling from his curved lips, offering me my first smile since signing up. “Thought you ‘outta know.”  
“Jaeger,” I say, drawling out his name; rolling it around my tongue like a morsel, deciding if it’s worth the effort in remembering, but my mind was already made before he had considered talking to me. One question did escape my lips in monotony, a thick English accent coating my words: “German name, yeah?”  
His smile drops a bit and he removes the butt and extinguishes it. “Yeah, m’father was born in Strasburg and moved ‘ere for work,” he says in a softer voice; one that seems almost out of place among the other men here. “Hope that’s no’ an inconvenience for you Mr...?”  
“Levi Ackerman,” I say, finally meeting his outstretched hand. “Just Levi is fine.”  
“Levi,” he says, testing out my name. “Well Levi; I ‘ope you aren’t too put off by our shiny disposition.” He gestures to the four foot muddy walls that encompass us and for the first time in nearly three weeks, I crack the slightest hint of a smile. “As for I,” he says, lighting another cigarette and moving his arms animatedly about. “I like to think of it as a trip of sorts.”  
“A trip?” my smile dumbing down to a smirk. “Well Eren, this is a Hell of a trip.”  
He turns from me to peer over the wall at the enemy’s encampment not 40 yards away. “Well I did get to see Pas-de-Calais,” he says, pronouncing the French town in a perfect French dialect. He turns back to me, he smile ever present. “It is beautiful, no?” he asks in an irritatingly accurate accent.  
The smirk never leaving my face; I reach over and ruffle his hair. “Sure kid.”  
**********  
As the spring months progressed into summer; the sense of companionship between both Eren and I seemingly bloomed, despite our circumstance. Not many of the men were too eager to make friends with one another; not for any reason that would point to hatred, but more to do with the fact that we were so blindly hoping to be home by Christmas of that year, that we saw no point in getting too attached to one another.  
Of course that didn’t stop the lot of from forming some semblance of camaraderie. We were- after all- fighting in a war with one another; no sense in pretending that we all didn’t share a mutual respect towards each other.  
Our days were spent in idle; waiting for something from the other side to happen that would merit a counter-attack. More often than not- it seems- no such progression happened.  
Eren and I were merely left to our own devices; keeping watch over the Germans but not doing anything that would consider “hard work”. We didn’t even do anything hardly worth the name “mediocre work”. We checked the other side every few hours or so; the Germans were going nowhere, just like the day before and the day before that.  
The spaces between our hours spent in silence were filled with the two of us swapping our lives. I bared more of myself in those few hours than I’ve ever had in my life time.  
I had learned that Eren was born and raised in the small village of Deanhouse, West Yorkshire. Lived a relatively privileged life; father was a doctor that traveled to neighboring towns, most of the time Huddersfield. His mother, a frail woman, stayed at home to care for his sister. He went through primary and secondary school in the area and was on his way to Leeds to become a doctor like his father. He had mentioned that part of him felt pressured into the profession only because his father had taken him on so many runs, that he assumed he wanted him to take up the interest.  
“Well what would have done, if not a doctor?” I had asked him and almost immediately, it seems his eyes light up more than what they previously were. “Poetry,” was his simple response, taking me aback slightly.  
“Poetry?”  
“Problem with that, Ackerman?” he asked me, smirking wildly at me.  
I chuckled at him. “Not at all, Eren,” I said. “You outta let me read some when this is all over.”  
“Okay,” he said, outstretching his hand. “It’s a deal; I let you read my poems and you show me something of equa’ value.”  
“What would constitute as “equal value”?” I asked.  
His smirk turns into a smile. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”  
**********  
Those summer months progressed into winter and soon it was Christmas; something the lot of us weren’t expecting. It was as if a fire was lit under the German’s asses. Attacks were coming more frequently and that therefore suggested that we actually had to kill someone.  
I remember the first time Eren shot somebody.  
After, he threw his gun away and sat in the fetal position by my feet for the remainder of the attack.  
It took a lot of coaxing on my part to get him to relax, but when I did, he clung to me like a scared child and cried silently into my shoulder. I could do nothing but hold him while silent sobs wracked his poor body until exhaustion took over and he fell asleep.  
I was given clearance to take him to the make shift barracks and lay him on one of the old cots. The sudden movement caused him to wake up.  
“Please,” I heard his small voice say to me. “Don’t leave me.”  
I hoist him closer to my body. “Tch,” I said. “Who says I’m gonna leave you, brat?”  
“No, Levi,” he said. I look down at him and flinch at the sheer amount of anguish found in his seemingly vibrant eyes. “Don’t ever leave me.”  
I stare at the boys in my arms for the longest time. “Okay,” I said finally, my voice softening substantially.  
“Promise?”  
Despite the naivety in the one word, I find myself muttering. “Promise.”  
But I should have known how foolish of a promise it was.  
Because there are no certainties in war; only empty promises.  
But for the moment, I didn’t voice such despairing thoughts because I as well, believed Eren and I would never be separated.  
**********  
The following day, Eren acted as if nothing had transpired. His eyes seemed duller than before, but he did well to hide it from me.  
Or at the very least tried.  
Despite his reassurances on his behalf, I knew better than to listen to anything he was saying. The night before, the kid kept an iron grip on me and slept restlessly. Anybody with a pair of working eyes can see how very little he had slept in the past days, even before the day before.  
The months progressed even further; Christmas and New Years passing in a hazy blur. January all through until March proved an entirely different war altogether. More often than not, you would find clumps of us huddled together to keep warm. Men rubbing their hands together and sticking them in the pits of their arms to prevent frostbite. Some even resorted to snapping already dead toes.  
Winter was Hell.  
With winter came sickness.  
Sickness brought even more deaths than there already were at that point.  
And death was the last thing we needed.  
I had gotten sick and Eren did everything to keep me from dying.  
Fed me his rations; let me wear his extra clothing and if we were lucky enough to sleep in the barracks, I would curl up into his chest to keep myself warm.  
By some miracle or Grace of God, I was left sick for only a week and a half.  
But it seems, nobody was more grateful than Eren.  
**********  
We learned real quickly that Field marshal was basically synonymous with the word “corpse”.  
If you came back at all, you were left with a souvenir commonly in the form of a bodily injury. These injuries ranged from slight nicks from the barbed wire or entire limbs being severed.  
After watching one such occasion, Eren turned to me: “I’m never going back out again.”  
I regarded him with a piteous look and thumped his forehead.  
He should know by now; it’s not like we had a choice in the matter.  
**********  
Our third Christmas together came.  
While the men outside were playing soccer, Eren and I were inside the barracks, trying desperately to keep warm.  
And with that came the alcohol.  
Maybe we were an hour or so into our light drinking session when Eren- who had been resting against my shoulder- said to me: “Can you dance, Levi?”  
The question sort of threw me off. Surely he had much to drink and was clearly inebriated.  
“No, I can’t say I do, Eren,” I said, looking down at his slightly red tinted face. I went back to my rum, completely oblivious to Eren’s sudden presence in front of me; his hand pulling on the wool sleeve of my turtleneck.  
Intrigued, I set my drink aside and let Eren pull me into his arms.  
“What’re you doing, brat?” I asked, slightly amused.  
Without missing a beat, he responds: “Teaching you to dance.”  
I laughed at him. Very truly laughed.  
“There is no music,” I point out. Eren holds up a finger and walks away from me. He rummages through a couple boxes before pulling out a record player. He sets it down and prepares a record. Seconds later, Canon in D Major fills the small room. Eren assumes his previous position; one hand holding mine and one on my hip. The hand that isn’t in Eren’s is placed on his shoulder. I meet his gaze and he smiles.  
“I gonna move forward with my right foot an’ I need you to move backwards with your left.” I nod my head and do as he says. “Now with your right.”  
As we move around the small area, my brain shuts off and I let my feet carry me. I instead turn my attention to Eren who I come to realize that his attention focused on me. Our eyes meet and they hold for an indeterminable amount of time.  
It’s at that moment where I come to truly delve into everything that is Eren.  
His every gentle movement.  
The unusual softness of his hand as it so delicately cradles mine.  
The slightest hint of a smile of his face.  
I study him right done to the subtle glint in his vibrant eyes.  
Eren is beautiful.  
His eyes are beautiful; his face is beautiful; his body is beautiful.  
Everything; right done to the core of his soul, Eren is beautiful.  
The song stopped and Eren’s eyes flint away from mine. I reached up and gently force his gaze to meet mine once more. Very slowly, as if not to startle him, I placed a delicate peck on his cheek and pulled away.  
“You are a wonderful dancer, Eren,” I said.  
He smiles gently at me. “If I asked you to continue dancing with me, would you?”  
I smiled at him. He really didn’t need an answer for that one.  
The rest of the night was spend in each other’s arms; moving slowly to the sound of Johann Pachelbann. Eren leaving me only to flip the record or put a new one on altogether. Then we would once more find ourselves, in sync. His arms wrapped protectively around my waist and mine around his neck; my face pressed into his shoulder.  
It’s almost ironic; dancing during a war against the Germans while listening to a German composer. The thought almost made me laugh. Of course; it did.  
“What’s so funny?” Eren asked me.  
I shake my head at him. “Just thinking,” I reply, reaching up to lace my fingers in Eren’s soft, brown hair. He bends down and presses his forehead to mine.  
“About what?” he asked.  
“You.”  
He chuckles. “You’re laughing while thinkin’ ‘bout me? Should I be concerned?”  
I stare at him for a short moment. “No,” I said finally.  
He kisses my forehead. “Good,” he mutters and we go back to dancing.  
We continued to dance for another hour or so until we reconvened on one of the cots; the both of us on our backs, Eren’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest.  
We lay in content silence for a moment. “Have you ever been loved, Eren?”  
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his grip around my shoulders tightens. I roll over on my stomach, rest my arms on his chest and lean into them.  
“Yes,” he says, cupping my cheek in his hand. “Have you?”  
I saw no real point in lying. “Not really.”  
He doesn’t press it. We remain silent for a while.  
“I ‘ope you don’t mind, but I’ve been writing ‘bout you in my letters to Mum,” he said. “She’s really like to meet you after.”  
I smile contently at him. “I’d like that, Jaeger.”  
**********  
It was three days later that we got a cold taste of reality.  
Eren and I were made to go over by our superior. The look of utter terror in Eren's eyes were unmistakable; I no doubt had the same look in my eyes. We weren't out five minutes before our numbers were reduced and we heard the call for us to retreat. I found Eren and together, we ran back to camp. Eren was lagging behind me and I turned to bark at him to move faster; more out of panic then actually anger. I ran faster, hoping Eren would be following, I turned back only to watch as his legs got blown out from under him by a stray mortar shell. Despite our superiors yelling at me to leave him; despite the prospect of my death, I sprinted to him.  
With strength I didn’t know I possessed, I hoisted Eren up and carried his broken body back to our side.  
Ignoring the chastising tone in my superior’s voice, I laid him gently on the ground and resisted the urge to vomit at the site of the remains of Eren’s body.  
Both of his legs were gone; one above the knee, the other just inches above the ankle. A gaping wound in his abdomen was staring back at me.  
That was when I realized.  
This is where Eren was going to die.  
With a bloody, shaky hand, Eren reached for something in the pocket of his wool coat and handed it to me.  
I stared down at it and back at him, ready to plead with him.  
But he was already gone.  
Then something in me snapped.  
I wept unlike I have ever wept before. Mouth open, agape and sounds comparable to that of a dying animal permeated the air around me. I clutched the letter in my hand and pressed my face into Eren coat, soaking my face in his warm blood, but not giving a single damn.  
One memory entered my mind at that moment. The promise I had given to Eren; my first promise I had ever given to anybody. I had realized that Eren did not promise the same; my foolish mind didn’t take into account one overwhelming detail:  
There was no promise to be kept.  
There never was.  
Because life is a beautifully bitter lie.  
And death is the ugly truth.  
**********  
The war ended eleven months later.  
I felt no joy in what many believed to be our victory.  
Who would find joy in knowing the millions of men have lost their lives and for what? To have their families boast about that disgusting lie?  
_Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori_  
I have heard that line so many times; it’s lost its meaning.  
When I arrived in Britain, I traveled to Deanhouse.  
A small little village; the locals a little hard to understand.  
They directed me to a small manor with several petunia bushes growing around the yard.  
I walked up the cobblestone path to the door and knocked. Several seconds later, a woman around the age of 45 years opened the heavy door. Behind her, a little ravenette stood, clutching her mother’s apron. She looked no older than eight.  
“May I help you?” I heard the woman say.  
I swallow a few times before answering. “Yes, may I ask if you are Carla Jaeger?” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.  
“Yes, child,” she said. “Are you a friend of Eren’s?”  
The question causes my throat to tighten. It was through the strength of God that I found my voice to reply.  
“Yes,” I said quietly. “My name is Levi Ackerman.”  
Mrs. Jaeger seemed to have stopped altogether. Then very slowly, as if everything had gone in slow motion, she dropped to her knees and a sob ripped from her throat.  
She didn’t need me to tell her Eren wasn’t with me.  
That Eren’s will never be coming home.  
The tears on my cheeks were enough of an indication.  
Eren’s little sister begins to panic and before she truly realized the reason for her mother’s sudden outburst, she sobs as well.  
I only stand there and watch; tears of my own slowly cascading down my face.  
Unable to help them; much like how I was unable to help Eren.  
**********  
I arrived in Bibury three days later after Carla and Eren’s father, Grisha had insisted I stayed.  
I was very reluctant at first, seeing how I hardly knew Eren’s family. Eren’s younger sister, Mikasa seemed overly fond of me which did however brighten my stay substantially.  
Walking through my old village, I ignored the pointed stares and whispers thrown at me. By the time I arrived home, I was out of breath. I rushed up the front walkway and slammed the door shut; locking it behind me and jogging up the stairs to my room.  
I sat on the edge of my bed and stare down at the abused envelop in my hands.  
I had promised myself that I would read it after the war was over.  
With much hesitance, I delicately open the letter. The first thing I noticed was a finely crafted key on a chain. I had remembered Eren wearing it frequently and wondered why he had placed it in the envelop in the first place. I slipped it around my neck and pulled out the letter and read Eren’s handwriting:

 _My Dearest Levi,_  
_If you are reading, it most definitely means I am dead. Either that or you and I are back home and are laughing about this as if the prospect of the two of us dying was_ _completely absurd._  
_If I am dead though; well, not much to be done about it now._  
_In all my time alive, I only considered four people of the utmost importance to me. My mother, my father, my sister and this man I met while in France._  
_You may know of him; a slight fellow with black hair, the most piercing grey eyes I’ve ever seen on any man and a heart bigger than any country in the world. He cared for_ _me in a way no other person outside of my family has ever had. He protected me as I have protected him and in a way, it was as if we were almost lovers._  
_Such a naive notion; lovers on the battlefield._  
_Naive; yes, but not untrue._  
_Would you believed it if I had told you, Levi?_  
_I went away to fight a war not of my own and ended up falling in love._  
_The idea seems almost comical; so much so that I’m finding it hard to believe it to be real._  
_But he made everything in that wretched hellhole bearable if only for a short amount of time. He eased whatever frailty past over me in nothing more than a few soothing_ _words._  
_He was the only thing that kept me tethered; grounded._  
_The only reason I died human and my gratitude cannot begin to express my profound appreciation for him._  
_He had once told me that he had never been loved._  
_Tell him that he was loved more than he could ever begin to know._  
_Your comrade in arms,_  
_Eren_  
That night I feel asleep with his letter pressed to my chest and his key around my neck.  
And I woke up to a world painted grey.  
As the minutes ticked by, the answer to my question became so blindly evident.  
Beauty is only seen through a tranquil mind.  
Since I am without tranquility,  
I am left with nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry....I realize if I were to read this as a reader and not the author I'd probably want to murder the author.....


End file.
